


Oh, The Boss Is Coming!

by myracingthoughts



Series: Darcy Lewis Bingo [16]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, First Dates, Fluff and Humor, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25087297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myracingthoughts/pseuds/myracingthoughts
Summary: Fifteen minutes.Darcy Lewis had fifteen minutes to pick up her dry cleaning, get on the subway and get the hell back to the office for her 2 PM meeting. And then in walks man bun, and her perfectly planned afternoon all goes to hell.11/7: Added a bonus chapter!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis
Series: Darcy Lewis Bingo [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927495
Comments: 72
Kudos: 332





	1. Chapter 1

Fifteen minutes.

Darcy Lewis had fifteen minutes to pick up her dry cleaning, get on the subway and get the hell back to the office for her 2 PM meeting. It was doable, maybe not with enough padding, but it would have to do. As long as she kept her head down and didn’t get distracted, it should be more than enough time.

Why she decided her preferred dry cleaner had to be the one across town was anyone’s guess at the moment. But here she was, striding up to the counter… just as another customer leaned against the cashier booth, beating her to the punch.

Drat.

Before she was able to pull out her phone to occupy her time in her newly-formed line of one, the cashier surprisingly asked her for her ticket, along with the rather large man beside her. A passing glance sized him up as the type that never left the gym, she decided, all broad shoulders, impeccable tailoring, and don’t-talk-to-me vibes.

But she tucked the thought away and focussed on not checking the time, so she didn’t look  _ too _ impatient.

It was only a moment later when a plastic wrapped-coat hanger found its way in her grasp, so all that was left to do was wait to pay. Dudebro was taking way too long checking out but eventually finished, leaving her to settle the bill.

Before she could even handle the credit machine, Darcy stared down at the bag in her hands and counted three dress shirts and a suit. All definitely not her clothes.

“Shit.”

She looked up helplessly at the dry-cleaning worker who suddenly looked apologetic.

“I might have mixed up the hangers,” she grimaced. “Do you want me to…?” she motioned towards the brunet just about to walk out the door.

Darcy sighed and shook her head before slamming a twenty on the counter. Mistakes happen; it was an easy enough fix. And that’s how she found herself bounding out the tiny dry cleaners’ door, trying to head off the guy in front of her before he managed to make it to his car.

Her boss was  _ actually _ going to kill her. Or fire her, which, frankly, would be worse.

“Hey!”

She called out desperately to the hulking figure stalking out, heels clicking on the tile as she struggled to keep up with him. The asshole had white AirPods in both ears, might have even been mid-phone call for all she knew.

She didn’t care. She just wanted her stupid dry cleaning.

“Hell-ooo!”

Sure, she could have tapped him on the shoulder, but who knew if this guy was some sort of psychopath? One that’d kidnap her and tie her up in some mouldy basement, or pull a knife on her. This was New York City, after all. Stranger things had happened to nicer people.

The last thing she wanted to do was tempt fate.

Desperate to get this (hopefully not a serial killer) guy’s attention, she scrambled to try to make out the scribbled name on the bag tag.

“Bucky?” It came out as more of a question than a call.

What kind of hippy-ass parent names their kid ‘Bucky’? And who the hell does he think he is thinking he can pull off that long brown—

But apparently, the name meant something to  _ him _ , his head finally turning in her direction. Scruff and chiselled cheekbones came into view.

— _ shit.  _ Wait a minute. Take every salty thought she’d had back because the man in front of Darcy Lewis  _ absolutely _ could pull off that long, brown hair. That glorious man bun.

Hell, he could shave his head in this parking lot, and he could likely still have his way with anyone here.

Herself included, of course.

And suddenly, somehow, she wasn’t so angry anymore.

He looked at her expectantly, lifting his sunglasses from his eyes for a better look. And damn, did Darcy love that look. Between those deep grey eyes and the natural smoulder he was giving off, it took her longer than usual to realize his raised brows were asking why she’d called out to him and how she knew his name.

Right, she had to talk.

It took her a second to find the words, clearing her throat in the meantime to buy some time.

“Y-you have my dry cleaning.”

He wrinkled his nose and held up his own set of plastic-covered hangers.

“No, this is…” but he was already giving the clothes inside a second glance, noting the burgundy tulle sticking out between the black fabric mid-sentence.

“Did you really not look down and realize there’s a dress in your dry cleaning?”

He looked down at the clothes in his hands, and then at those in Darcy’s, face softening.

“Shit,” he breathed. “But… there’s a suit?”

Between the confusion on his face and the hard Brooklyn accent (because of course he was from Brooklyn) spouting out of his mouth, Darcy could have laughed. The perfectly poised man in front of her coming slightly undone at the moment, eyebrows creased, and AirPods long removed. He looked less intimidating like this, less like a hulking broody hipster and more like a friendly neighbourhood barista.

At one of those upscale coffee shops with leather aprons or something.

Darcy’s words came a little easier, a little sassier now, “That’s  _ my _ suit. And I look damn good in it.”

Shit, was this was one of those moments her parents talked about? An organic social moment.

What was it called again? A meet-cute?

(Meet-hot would be a better descriptor, frankly.)

“Listen,” the hipster said, and Darcy could hear the slight gravel in his tone. “Sorry about the mix-up. Can I buy you a coffee? I feel like I need to make it right somehow.”

A gorgeous stranger accidentally steals her dry cleaning and then offers her coffee? She was basically a Hallmark movie moment at this point. What was she going to say to that?

She had just chewed the guy’s head off, she had to be at work in like five minutes, and she desperately needed the dress inside that garment bag. Darcy didn’t have time for this, but hot damn was she not going to let this rare moment slip through her fingers. Even if there was only a small chance he’d actually follow through.

After all, this was New York; ghosting was a fully formed language here.

“I um, gotta get back to work—“She was definitely already going to be late, “—so, rain check? Uh, wait. I think I have a card on me.”

She fumbled through her purse, trying to find a spare. Of course, the lone card was at the bottom of her bag, wedged somewhere between weeks’ worth of receipts and an empty pack of gum.

Note to Darcy, time to clean this purse.

“Here,” she quickly handed it to him with her brightest smile. “Shoot me a text, and we can set up an apology coffee.”

A leather glove obscured her scoping for a wedding band or tan line. Well, it was cold out; she couldn’t fault him for bundling up. Hopefully, he wasn’t a skeevy prick like the last guy she’d managed to meet by accident.

Jeremy? Jared? No, it was Jack. Definitely Jack.

He glanced down at the card and smiled. Apparently, he didn’t get business cards much or something.

“Darcy.”

There was something about how he said her name out loud that made her want to get him to repeat it. Over and over and over again. Maybe in the lower, growly register she could sense was there.

“Thanks, Bucky?” she hesitated to use the name again.

He chuckled, reaching over to trade hangers with her.

“I’ll tell you the story over coffee later,” he promised.

“OK, well, thanks for my dry cleaning,” she said awkwardly with a smile.

“Hope you’re not too late for work,” he said with a wave, turning and heading back toward the subway.

Right, work. Darcy stared down at her phone, realizing she was already three minutes behind schedule.

“TAXI!”


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to an accident off Fifth, she ended up being five minutes late to her meeting.

Sweating and flustered, she’d received a very stern look from her boss and a quick chat reminding her of the importance of that night. How everything had to be perfect. She’d heard the same speech a million times already, but if she wanted to make partner one day, she had to sit there with a firm smile and a constant nod as the list of demands grew longer and longer.

Tonight they were wining and dining some of their exclusive clientele, the ones that made up about 10% of the workload but 85% of their bottom line.

So, Darcy would don the tea-length burgundy gown she’d picked up from the dry cleaners, her most expensive heels (because appearance was everything) and pretend that she wasn’t scrounging between couch cushions for laundry quarters because she was struggling to pay her rent every month for an evening.

Because hopefully, fingers crossed, if tonight went well, she wouldn’t have to for much longer.

So with her shoes stashed under her desk, her dress hanging on the coat rack beside her cubicle, and her lipstick and make-up tucked away safely in her purse, she got to work on looking like she made six figures (on a low-five-figure budget). But like, she was aiming for a low six figures, barely scraping by.

Just $102k or something, but six figures, nonetheless.

The hotel was a grand affair. Archways and marble with a live jazz band in the lobby. Elegant and understated, but the kind that screamed pricey, just like the Uptown rich and wannabes adored. Cocktails flowed smoothly with Darcy hung in the wings to look on and blend in.

She’d quadruple-checked the guest list, ensuring all the five-star clients’ RSVPs had held and briefed the venue attendants at check-in to ensure the guests would receive whatever they asked for. But still, anything could go wrong at an event like this, especially with Manhattan expectations.

“Darcy.”

Oh no. The simple call made her veins fill with ice. It was the tone. Her boss used that snide tone when someone had spectacularly failed, and someone’s head was about to be on the chopping block. The same one that’d already claimed the likes of Franklin, Jennifer  _ and _ Karen. And that was just last month.

Smoothing her face into the pinnacle of professionalism, she turned to meet the fuming features of Lacey Douglas, her boss, with a cheery, “Yes, Ms. Douglas?”

“Wilson Fisk’s steak is medium.”

As insignificant as the simple sentence sounded, Darcy was pretty sure this was a travesty. Fisk’s business made up almost half of the firm’s earnings last year alone, and if his recent brush with the law was any indication, that number would easily crescendo.

“That’s unacceptable,” Darcy said firmly with a scrunched forehead for effect and all. “I’d be happy to find someone in charge and bring this to their attention.”

Lacey looked a little relieved at her offer, “Yes, that would be suitable. The waiter is bringing a fresh steak, but still… We can’t afford to let this go. Especially not if they’re looking for repeat business from us.”

“Of course. Let me go find someone.”

While she was relieved it didn’t seem to be her in the direct line of fire, Darcy knew better than to act like this was anything less than a personal affront on the firm. She wasn’t about to yell at someone, though, even for Lacey. Maybe a firm warning behind closed doors or a strongly worded email.

Having worked in the service industry for most of her life, including even the odd weekend shift now, she wasn’t about to take one misplaced steak and turn it into a spectacle.

She was just about to leave the dining room, heels click-clacking on the hardwood floor, and spotted a very familiar face. Dressed in a navy suit with velvet lapels and a perfectly placed charcoal tie, sans AirPods.

“ _ You _ .”

The word slipped out of her mouth a little more strangled than she’d intended.

Only a bit.

“Yes, me. Did you forget my name already, Darcy?”

A sly smile crept to the corners of his perfectly shaped mouth. Goddamnit. How did he manage to have the perfect amount of stubble  _ and _ charm? And stranger still, what was he even doing here?

And that’s when she remembered the card.

“You knew I was going to be here,” she accused, struggling to keep herself from waving a finger in his face. “That’s why you gave me that look when you took my card.”

“I may have put two and two together, yes.”

So he was a creep? He wasn’t exactly giving off Ted Bundy vibes (did Ted Bundy even give off Ted Bundy vibes?), but this whole situation felt eerily planned, and suddenly Darcy was on the offensive.

“What the hell are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”

“Stalking?” he looked at her incredulously. “No, Ms. Lewis, I own the hotel.”

Did her heart just stop beating?

“You,” she was suddenly finding it very hard to find the words. “Own the hotel?”

He watched her keenly, the corner of his lip still barely lifted in a smirk.

“Yes.

A meet-cute with a hotelier? Her mom was definitely going to pitch the rights to this story to Lifetime. The puzzle pieces started clicking together one-by-one; years of thinking on her feet in awkward social situations prepared her for this.

She had two things to solve here: her very threatening boss’s beef with well, the beef, and the handsome man dressed to the nines in front of her that she was now very determined to not let slip out of her grasp again.

“OK, play along. I’m going to look very angry at you, but in fact, I’d like to maybe upgrade our coffee to a drink because I’m really going to need one after this,” Darcy stated, hardening her face into her best  _ I’d like to speak to the manager _ look. With a better haircut.

“Wait, why are you looking angry?” he asked, schooling his own expression anyway.

“Oh, apparently one of the wait staff delivered a steak cooked to medium that was supposed to be medium- _ rare _ . And my boss asked me to yell at you,” she asked with a furrowed brow and a struggling-to-stay-firm lip. “Well, not  _ you _ you, because I didn’t know it was you. But the owner, or someone in charge.”

His lip twitched, and he nodded, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a card and a pen. Her eyes were too focussed on his face to make out his chicken scratch, trying to remember if he really did look this good that morning.

He probably did.

“Ah, I see. So, I’ll look very apologetic and hand you one of my cards. I’ll even write down my cell here for my personal line and circle the number,” his forehead creased apologetically, but a playful glint was in his eye. “And you can text me when you’re wrapped on whatever this is.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” she offered with an upturned nose. “I’m mildly appeased because I’m a strong businesswoman, and I’m going to go walk back towards my boss now.”

He tipped a quick nod in her direction, she snuck a half-smile, and they parted ways. She looked back and was pretty sure he smiled at her, warmth rushing her cheeks in a split second she swore she caught it.

“Darcy? Is it all solved?” Lacey’s dulcet tone carried easily over the background music (live, of course) and chatter.

Darcy cleared her throat and replied, “He gave me his card so we can talk about a ten percent discount for our trouble.”

She knew that by morning, her boss would have forgotten entirely about the screw-up, so she could pretty much get away with saying whatever she wanted to.

“Good work, Lewis.”

Darcy’s shoulders sagged in relief as her boss turned on her perfectly picked stilettos and stalked back to her table. Her steak was cold, the ice in her drink had long melted, but she couldn’t care less. Because as the guests trickled out of the hall and her boss left her in the lobby, she set her sights on the steel grey eyes watching her from the plush carpeted stairwell.

“Still up for that drink?”

“Wouldn’t want to waste a perfectly good outfit,” Darcy replied with a smile.

He winked. He  _ winked _ . Who still did that? In real life??

“That would be a shame. Let me take you to my favourite bar, then.”

She looped her arm through this outstretched elbow and let her guide her up the stairs. Of course, his favourite bar  _ would _ be in the hotel he owned.

There was a fleeting moment of doubt, a quick brush of fear at the thought of him taking her to some private suite for some nefarious plot. After all, she was a nobody at the firm, arm in arm with a hotelier, who definitely made more in a year than she’d made her entire life. But the stiffness subsided as the clinking of glasses and alcohol-emboldened voices drifted down the hall in front of them.

They weren’t alone. Stranger danger averted.

“Was your boss satisfied with my response?” he asked with a smirk.

“She’ll probably still book her next event here if that’s what you’re asking.”

He raised an eyebrow at her sass, smirk still firmly planted on his face. They rounded the corner into what looked like a Broadway theatre balcony, overlooking the main floor of the swanky jazz bar below. A handful of guests were sprinkled around the room, with candlelight providing a cozier and slightly quieter escape from the exuberant guests on the floor below.

Mr. Hotel pulled out her chair for her and helped tuck it in as she sat down. Old school. Who said chivalry is dead? Darcy was already looking for the catch, the rug that was about to be pulled out from beneath her. He was like first class, and she could barely afford coach. There was no way this guy came with no strings attached.

He greeted the server by their first name, Lennox, and ordered a bottle of wine she could barely pronounce.

“Is that alright with you?” he asked her, the woman who definitely had a half-finished box of wine at home in the fridge—the picture of taste and refinement.

“It’ll do,” she said with as much of a straight face as she could muster.

He flagged down and whispered something to a different server, who nodded and headed back to the kitchen before he settled himself back at the table.

“So, I don’t usually get drinks with guys I don’t know the name of… Bucky, was it?”

Was that the ghost of a blush across his face? The nervous chuckle gave him away as surprisingly bashful for some ritzy hotel owner. Somehow that made him so much more endearing.

“It’s short for my middle name. I don’t usually use it for my dry-cleaning orders, but unfortunately, my business partner has a sense of humour. James Buchanan Barnes,” he said, outstretching his hand for a shake, but instead brought her hand to his lips. “It’s nice to meet you properly.”

_ Swoon _ .

Listen, this scene might as well have been ripped straight from a trashy romance novel, but Darcy Lewis was living for this moment. Even if the guy turned out to be some  _ Catch Me If You Can _ con artist, this story would 100% be passed down for generations as the ‘could have been’ that got away.

Trying her hardest not to look like a lovestruck teenager, she pursed her lips and went for the jugular. Just to see if he could play ball.

“It’s nice to see you clean up better than I would have assumed. One question: Did you drop the Brooklyn from your accent at work on purpose, or does it only come out when your dry cleaner messes up your order?”

He laughed, the low bark sifting above the background noise. The crinkles at the edge of his eyes didn’t give away his age, but it was nice to see a genuine reaction in place of something forced, which is what she was used to on dates like these.

Wait. Was this a date?

“A little from column A, a little from column B. Brooklyn born and raised and not apologizing for it. How about you? Let me guess, even though you could easily tear her a new one and leave her high and dry, you’re playing nice for boss lady because you know you have to kiss some ass to get up that ladder, huh?”

And there it was, the volley. Darcy smiled knowingly, a little less uncomfortable at the thought of him seeing her out of her element earlier in the day. They both had to keep up appearances, though he probably didn’t have to scrape for change on laundry day.

His eyes still drifted slightly, watching his employees and the guests. A couple waved in his direction, and he quickly returned it with a curt nod. Yeah, he was a bit of a hotshot; she got that.

“I’m sure you’ve never had that problem,” she shot back with a turn of her lips.

“Oh, doll, if you only knew.”

There was a bit of mischief in that smile, that tone. A little bit of Brooklyn. She caught some extra moments to form her reply as the server offered him a taste of the wine he’s selected. Once approved, he toyed with a plain silver band on his middle finger as he watched Lennox pour out two generous glasses of red wine.

Was that a nervous tick? Was she doing something to make him shy, or did he not do this often?

“Maybe I’d like to.”

She hadn’t noticed before, the leather gloves and all, but the skin on his left hand was twisted and raised, interspersed with gnarled red and white lines in a patchwork of scars. Her usual hunt for a wedding band raised more questions than answers this time. No band or line in sight, but there was definitely a story.

Probably something painful, and not just the physical kind.

“Maybe one day I’ll tell you,” he posed. “For now, cheers.”

They tipped their glasses towards the other, and each sipped.

She had to admit, it was fantastic wine… that she definitely didn’t see the price tag of. Actually, now she was concerned. And thoroughly convinced she should throw out that week-old box in the fridge because, come to think of it, it tasted nothing like wine should anymore.

“You tease all the girls you steal dry cleaning from, Barnes?”

“Just the mouthy ones,” he joked, and she put on a faux pout in protest.

“…I’m not  _ mouthy _ .”

“Nah, you’re more of a spitfire,” he ribbed. “You upgrade your coffee to drinks with every guy you yell at or?”

“Only the smart ones.”

Dimpled cheek in full force, she was just glad to make him smile. She could watch that grin all day, laugh in that breathy tone and talk in his whisky drawl. The bottle of wine didn’t seem to last long; two hours felt like mere minutes. He managed to sneak in a couple of appetizers, which Darcy insisted on paying for — not that he’d let her.

But she did leave a good tip for Lennox, knowing how nerve-wracking it must be serving her boss’s boss.

After he helped her into her jacket, he led her arm in arm and walked towards the lobby at a leisurely pace.

“Thank you for the drinks, James. You have a beautiful hotel.”

“Well, I had beautiful company.”

The rush of red to her face was definitely the wine, she decided. Absolutely. Not the gorgeous man spouting compliments like he was made of them in front of her. That was it; the sign she’d been waiting for, an opening. She had to shoot her shot now.

“Maybe we should do this again? Maybe without either of our work involved?”

“I’d like that.”

He flagged over the doorman in an instant, asking him to ready the driver.

“No, no! It’s fine. I’m just a few subway stops away,” Darcy said with wide eyes.

“No, please, the driver will take you wherever you need to go… even if it’s the  _ Bronx _ ,” he shuddered to her chuckle.

He stopped her just before she slipped into the car and pulled her in. Brushing his lips over her cheek, she could feel that blush return, and now she knew it wasn’t just the wine.

His breath on her neck, he whispered in her ear, “By the way, the dress looks even better  _ on _ you… though I’m sad you didn’t go for the suit.”

It was her turn to smirk, “Maybe next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my first ever Wintershock fic! I had a lot of fun with this pairing, so you might see me again soon.
> 
> All comments and kudos are loved and cherished.  
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/), where I post a lot of comic book content, work updates, and behind-the-scenes commentary.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter! Additional fluff and backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, surprise? Special shout out to the subscribers who stuck around just in case I added to this world.
> 
> This chapter was written for Darcy Lewis Bingo and checks off box R5 - Beanie. Also, the amount of restraint I had to refrain from calling it a toque… the Canadian in me runs deep, friends.

Darcy woke up the next morning feeling like she’d stepped out of a dream. Had it not been for James’s text still sitting on her phone, she would have simply assumed last night was a stress-induced hallucination of the best kind.

And honestly, she would have been OK with that.

Her dress was folded over the back of a chair she’d inherited with the apartment, shoes placed neatly at the foot of the bed. The two most expensive items she owned in the world, sitting in the apartment she could barely make rent on. It felt flimsy, and had she not been still riding the high from last night’s whirlwind adventure, she might have even felt a little sad about it.

But, knowing last night was a job well-done, and she had a little extra time to get to the office this morning, she decided to treat herself to something other than her usually burnt office coffee and headed to a nearby cafe. And it helped that when we reached into her coat pocket, her fingers brushed against James’s card still sitting there from last night, handwritten cell phone number and all.

The jingle of the overhead bell had barely left her ears when she realized that last night’s luck may not have worn off after all.

James sat at a bistro table just inside the doors, hunched over in thought. Darcy couldn’t help but smile to herself at the sharply dressed man in a houndstooth scarf, tan wool coat slung over the back of the chair.

“Now you’re really just stalking me,” Darcy joked with a wry smile. “What are you doing here?”

Those bright blue eyes flew to hers, grin already on his face as he took her in.

“Would you be surprised if I told you this is my business partner’s favourite coffee shop?” He nudged his chin towards a statuesque blond with a bashful grin in the corner, clearly in the middle of a phone call. “We can just call _him_ fate.”

“Well, what does fate want to drink?” Darcy started, pulling off her gloves to get to her phone. “I’ll get you both some fresh coffee in some form. Least I can do after what you did for me last night.”

James shook his head, brows furrowed, “No, I couldn’t.”

“No, seriously. It’s on me. I did some work for the owner of the cafe, and he owes me a favour.”

“Really, I couldn’t impose.”

“No imposition,” a voice rang out over their exchange. “Any friend of Darcy is a friend of mine. Pietro Maximoff, it’s nice to meet you.”

“James Barnes,” he offered in exchange, shaking his hand.

Pietro’s eyebrows raised at his name but didn’t say anything. He flashed wide eyes and an approving nod at Darcy, who immediately flushed at the implication.

“Well, what can I get you? Darcy, your order’s easy, but you, Mr. Barnes? And your partner?”

“I would love an Americano, and my _business associate_ lives life a little sweeter. Maybe one of your seasonal lattes?”

“I know just the one,” Pietro said with a wink. “I’ll be right back with those.”

Which left Darcy and James alone, his partner conveniently still on his phone across the cafe.

* * *

James was still in disbelief she’d found him here, sitting in the same spot he’d taken up around this time of the month, sorting through numbers and data with the help of Steve.

“He seems nice,” James offered. “What kind of work did you do for him?”

“Negotiated with his asshole landlord. The law was on my side,” Darcy explained. “You look busy,” 

She gestured toward the stack of paper, dwarfing the bistro table. James swept his eyes across his mess, offering her a bashful smile.

“Two years ago, when Steve told me the hotel was waiting for him to step in, he’d never thought it’d involve so much paperwork. Negotiation? Sure. People skills? Fine. But math and paperwork? The worst,” James huffed a laugh.

Steve chuckled, finally deciding to give up his phone call charade. The one that had definitely been over for at least five minutes already by James’s count.

“This one wouldn’t let it go for the world, don’t let him fool you. I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers,” he held out a hand for the already grinning Darcy to shake.

As much as he hated to admit it, Steve wasn’t wrong. And maybe James wouldn’t have been so nostalgic for the place if he hadn’t spent most of his life wandering the halls, finding each and every nook and cranny in the labyrinth.

Hell, he even knew where the servers went to smoke. That spot their bosses never thought to check. But they were just letting off steam in their own ways, and that had its value, so he let it go. James figured there were bigger fish to fry, like unruly patrons and the occasional scam artist. Seedy stuff. 

Stuff mom and dad (God rest their souls) wouldn’t have put up with if they still ran the place.

“It’s very nice to meet you. James speaks very highly of you.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot to his hairline with a devious grin, “Does he now?”

Pietro broke off Steve’s lilt with his coffee delivery, stopping to shake Steve’s hand before leaving. Back to just the two of them, Darcy nudged James with her elbow.

“I guess the universe really wants us to have a second date,” Darcy joked, watching a twinkle flash in his eyes.

“Well, if the _universe_ wills it so,” he said with a lilt and a grin.

Darcy looked a little torn, smile drifting off her face as realization set in, “I should really head to work. I, uh, I’m probably already late.”

“Here,” James took one look back at Steve to make sure he was still occupied. “Let me walk you out.”

Opening the door for her, he realized Darcy’s hat was off-kilter, slipping off her head as her beautiful brown curls fought it off. James reached over to adjust her beanie, sweeping her hair out of her eyes as she stared up at him. 

“You warm enough?” He asked, breath clouding the cold air around them.

“Could be warmer,” Darcy said, blush creeping across her cheeks. “And I know you could _probably_ help with that, but, unfortunately, I have to get to work.”

Her hands reached up to catch his, dropping them down as they intertwined, anchoring her in the moment for just a few more seconds.

“Is it too forward if I ask you out to dinner tonight?” James asked softly.

She hummed, fingers curling around his absentmindedly, “I’m not one for social norms anyway.”

“Good. I’ll text you,” James said. “Have a good day at work.”

“You too!” She called back with a wave, already halfway down the block.

He was at his seat before the shiver set in, realizing just how cold it was outside. Steve had a look on his face that James couldn’t read for once in his life.

“So that’s Darcy, huh?”

“I don’t want to hear it,” James groaned, anticipating the next hour of interrogation.

The smile slid off Steve’s face as his forehead creased, “No, I didn’t mean anything—”

“Sure, Steve. You ol’ gossip.”

“I was just going to say, she’s pretty. And seems nice. And clearly has decent taste in coffee.”

“Mhm,” James hummed, taking a long sip of his coffee.

“Oh, you’re hook, line and sinker about her already,” Steve said, amusement in his tone. “Well, I’m happy for you.”

James tried not to think about the heat on his face, creeping past his cheeks and into his ears. 

“Shut up, Steve.”

It was hard to concentrate that day at work, glancing over at his cell phone every few minutes to make sure he didn’t miss a text from Darcy. Every time his phone pinged and he ramen lit up his screen, he couldn’t help but smile. And by the ten five o’clock came around, James was running out the door to make his date across town —at a restaurant closer to _her_ work.

She was waiting in the doorway of the restaurant, still bundled in her hat and jacket and rosy from the cold.

“Have you been waiting long?” He asked, feeling a little guilty.

Darcy shook her head, “Just got here, no worries.”

The hostess sat them at a booth in the far corner, setting down menus and promising to bring by some water. But James was more interested in Darcy, and they got right down to conversation, continuing right where last night left off.

“You know, I think I kind of took the lead on the conversation last night. I feel like I don’t know a lot about you,” Darcy said as James picked at his entree. “Other than you probably have a younger sister.”

He couldn’t stop his eyes from flashing surprise, eyebrows quirked.

“What makes you say that?”

“Just a hunch,” Darcy said quietly like she’d been caught using some superpower of hers. “You crouched down to adjust my hat this morning. Most people would say motherly, but that just screams big brother to me.”

“You have an older brother, too,” he realized aloud.

“Back home in New Hampshire,” Darcy nodded. “What’s your sister like?”

“She, uh,” he hesitated, and Darcy’s heart just about dropped out of her chest. _Shit_. James suddenly felt awful for not keeping a better poker face about this. “She was really great.”

“I’m so sorry,” Darcy blurted out, sounding a little too distressed. James could almost hear brain whirring as she tried to figure out how to salvage the conversation. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have brought it up—“

“No, no. It’s fine,” James said with a wave of his hand. “It’s been a few years. Frankly, I’m shocked _this_ didn’t come up first,” he added, gesturing to his arm.

Darcy grimaced, “I didn’t know if you wanted to talk about it.”

Of course, James realized. Taboo.

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s a—” James always struggled to say it out loud, “—part of me.”

Darcy nodded, reaching over to grab his hand, “You don’t have to tell me.”

But James had had enough practice telling this story to tell it a thousand more times in the same stark detail.

“I was MIA, assumed dead. But I was captured for most that time,” James explained, sounding almost rehearsed. “Took me fives years to get home, another six months of rehab and shrinks.”

“I’m so sorry,” Darcy said, brow furrowed, but James wasn’t done.

“My parents died while I was overseas” he wouldn’t say the word _tortured_ out loud “—car crash,” he explained. “Steve got the hotel since he was the closest thing my parents had to a son, even before I got lost.”

They were right to trust him to do the right thing. Stevie took the hotel on in their memory, for James’s honour, for all of that noble, chivalrous bullshit he was too good at, but they both knew he didn’t really have the heart for it. These cafe sessions were Steve’s way of checking in on James and making sure he had a handle of the operations side of things.

“So when I came back, Steve helped a lot —getting me up to speed and things — but it’s been two years now,” and he was just starting to feel like himself again.

James felt like he would jinx it if he said as much out loud.

“Well, I’m really proud of you and how far you’ve come,” Darcy said sincerely, reaching over to grab his hand.

James chuckled nervously, “Sorry, this got heavy. This isn’t exactly how I pictured our follow-up date going. It’s good company, at least.”

“ _Date_?”

Darcy pursed her lips across the table from him, and he couldn’t help but imagine what they would feel like against his— even if it was cutting into his ability to form a response.

“I said what I said,” he replied, a beat too late with a smirk and a ploy to mask his fumble. “Which means it’s tit-for-tat. So, what’s your story? Tell me more about Darcy Lewis.”

She swirled her drink with her straw, watching the ice clink against the glass, “I don’t really have a _story_. You know what I do for a living, it’s not that interesting, and I only have _so_ much office drama to relay.”

“Start with how you ended up in New York.”

“How do you know I’m not from here?” Darcy asked, putting on her best offended face.

“You’re not nearly angry or jaded enough,” he huffed with a chuckle.

She looked amused, “Well, you’re right. It all started in New Hampshire. My foster parents still live there; I visit them every Christmas.”

“Are you close?” James asked, hoping that wasn’t too personal a question.

But Darcy didn’t bat an eyelash, “Close-ish. They had a bunch of other foster kids before me, some now too. So, on the bright side, I have a big old extended family when I’m big city panicking over here.” 

“That must have been hard,” James offered, watching the corner of her mouth turn down slightly in the light.

“Sometimes,” she admitted, quieter now. “Money was always tight because it was always a full house, but you learn to cope. I always had a couple of jobs to help out the family, so working at the firm is an upgrade in the income department, at least. Even if it is kind of a nightmare.”

James could peek through the confident smile she put on, see the hard work and resilience it took to get where she was sitting right now. And honestly, she’d never looked more beautiful.

“Well, I’m glad I could steal you away for a night, even if we did meet at work.”

He didn’t miss the grateful smile or the way her eyes shone.

Darcy Lewis was a lot of things, but James was grateful she was here with him right now.

The best part about their dinners was that they were never really about the food. Sure, they’d go to a nice restaurant, have a good meal, Darcy would try to make for the bill, but that wasn’t ever going to happen with James around. But at the end of the night, they could have had it at the McDonald’s around the corner for all it mattered.

The night was all about her blue eyes, those red lips, that playful smile and the way her feet magically found his under the table. All he could hear was that laugh, the giggles and the gasps as they sparred a little back and forth. Before he knew it, they were already dancing for the bill, bundling scarves and jackets as James handed back the credit card machine and thanked the waiter.

“Can we do this again?” James asked almost suddenly, which seemed to startle Darcy.

Her mouth twisted into a grateful smile, “I would love that. On one condition, though.”

“Anything.”

“Oh, you’re _so_ going to regret saying that,” Darcy said with a devious look. “I get to pick dinner next time. _And_ pay.”

He would never promise her on the latter, but the former?

“A small price to pay to see you again, doll. So, where are you taking me for dinner?”

“Mm, I was thinking this little place in midtown. How about my place?”

“Your place?”

James started to wonder if he should think about this, worried his mouth might get him into trouble if she pushed him any further. Would they go past the point of no return?

“Does that offend your gentlemanly sensibilities?” Darcy teased, jabbing her pointer finger into his chest.

“Oh no, I just didn’t know you could cook,” James replied with a bit of a lilt.

Darcy snorted, “Oh, I’m not cooking. We’re ordering in. I’d rather not kill you before we even get the chance to make this official.”

“So skydiving’s out of the question?”

“You’re a riot.”

“And you’re adorable. I’ll call it even. Beauty and the Beast.”

“Belle _was_ always my favourite Disney princess.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

James walked Darcy to the door, hand planted on her hip, firmly in her grip. The chill from the wind blew through to their bones as they chattered, huddled outside the restaurant. Darcy’s hands drifted to his pockets as she pulled him closer.

“Now, I know you’re a gentleman and all, I mean, that’s what I like about you,” Darcy started in her way, blue eyes sparkling in the streetlamp. “But I forgot to give you something last night.”

Tugging him against her, she tilted her head up to catch him by the lips, hands braving the cold to pull at his lapel. His fingers found her hair as he kissed her back, sweet and meaningful as they came up for breath.

“What a coincidence, I was thinking the same thing,” James said, dipping down to peck her sweetly again for good measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Wintershock fics to come!
> 
> In the meantime, if you’d like to know what’s in progress, I do a [Fanfic Friday round-up](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/tagged/fanfic-friday) on my Tumblr every week that lists all of my WIPs. And I also take [Prompts](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/prompts) if you’re looking for something specific.
> 
> Thanks again for all the support 💜

**Author's Note:**

> Title credit: [“Oh, The Boss Is Coming!” by The Arkells](https://open.spotify.com/track/3Vh3TkSAPXbfCfjO23O2RS?si=ipE7xPrrQMuw2asLr5__0w)
> 
> Thank you for reading my little self-indulgent fic! Hope you enjoyed it.


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